


Three Faces

by Miss_M



Category: The Two Faces of January (2014)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Missing Scene, Multi, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:15:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22272427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_M/pseuds/Miss_M
Summary: “Tell me, Rydal, did your father the archeology professor ever teach you about Greek mating practices?”
Relationships: Rydal Keener/Chester MacFarland/Colette MacFarland
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Three Faces

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rubynye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/gifts).



> This is an extra treat! I own nothing.

He’d had enough to drink. Not too much, not so it would kill his ardor – just enough to make him not stop himself from doing exactly as he liked. He’d been thwarted in starting a fight back at the town square, but he would have this.

“Rydal,” Chester called out when he heard footsteps on the stone stair. “Could you come in here a minute?”

Colette was taking off her pearl earrings. She half turned, her hands to her ear, her mouth opening on a question, but she said nothing when she saw the look on Chester’s face. He’d never seen that look in the mirror, only reflected on Colette’s face, her hesitation, her silence. 

Rydal was outside their door, Chester had heard him pause on the landing. The door remained closed.

“Get in here.” No more pretense of a request. 

Chester imagined that this was how Rydal’s late, unlamented father had used to summon him for beatings, and sure enough, Rydal pushed open the door and stepped in, his hat in his hand, his shirt a little rumpled after his tussle with the Chania cops.

“Everything okay in here?” Rydal asked, his eyes moving smoothly from Chester to Colette and back again. 

Chester stood up from where he’d been sitting on the edge of the double bed and came closer to Rydal, close enough that Rydal backed up a step before he remembered he was no longer a little boy, and stood his ground.

Chester let himself smile a little – he liked getting an accurate read on a situation. “Colette?”

“Yes, Chester?”

“Take your clothes off.”

Rydal frowned, he opened his mouth, but Chester beat him to it, his voice still calm and reasonable. “You as well.”

“Now listen,” Rydal started to say.

Chester slapped him, an open-handed smack across the face. Chester had learned in the Army that little boys get slapped – punches and blows to the stomach were what men owed each other.

Rydal swallowed, his face turned away from Chester, his profile like a Greek girl’s: straight nose, soft mouth, round chin. He didn’t protest further, didn’t push Chester away, just stood there and took it. Chester leaned in, thrilling at having to lean down a bit, his lips brushing the shell of Rydal’s ear, and said loudly enough for Colette to hear him: “You want my wife? This is the only way it happens.”

Colette was still frozen in place, a single pearl earring clutched in her hand, while Chester stepped away, giving Rydal just enough space to unbutton his shirt. 

Chester smiled at her: “Time’s a-wasting. Take that dress off.”

They did as they were told, like good children. Naked and uncertain as Adam and Eve before the Fall, they waited for Chester to tell them what to do. He took his time undressing himself, put his shirt on the back of a chair so it wouldn’t wrinkle even more, then folded his trousers, while Colette sat up against the bedframe and Rydal climbed up on the bed, on his hands and knees, and lowered his head awkwardly to her crotch.

“Colette, honey, why don’t you sit on a pillow? Help him out.”

She sat on a pillow, and Rydal lowered his head and torso, and started to lick her like it was his first time getting a girl wet, all tentative and earnest. Colette closed her eyes, tried to enjoy it, but she couldn’t help darting glances at Chester while he finished arranging his clothes and got up on the bed behind Rydal. The bed creaked under the added weight, and Rydal tensed, his limbs and back as rigid as planks, though he kept licking.

Chester ran his hands down Rydal’s sides, the smooth skin, the narrow waist, the globes of the ass. A bit too short for a Greek statue, but he would do.

“Tell me, Rydal,” Chester said conversationally, pressing his index finger against Rydal’s hole, “did your father the archeology professor ever teach you about Greek mating practices?”

Rydal had stopped working on Colette and held himself so still, like he thought his stillness signaled neither acceptance nor refusal. “Fuck you,” Rydal said softly, his head between Colette’s legs. “I don’t think the Greeks brought their boys into the marital bedchamber to help out with their wives.”

Colette made a face, like someone had made a faux pas at a party. Chester knew that she was hating this more than she was enjoying it, but she wanted to see where it would go, how far Chester would make it go. And she wanted Rydal, oh yes, even like this, she wanted young Rydal very much.

Chester stopped circling and pushed the tip of his index finger into Rydal, who twitched violently and drew deep, ragged breaths. With his free hand, Chester tugged on himself roughly till he was fully hard.

“Your erudition does your upbringing credit,” Chester said dryly and pushed in.

He did it dry too, something else he’d learned in the Army, the feeling of unprepared muscles contracting and then yielding to him, the spasms running down Rydal’s back, Rydal muffling his grunts of pain in Colette’s snatch while Colette wriggled, like she couldn’t decide if she wanted Rydal closer or away from her, and panted, open-mouthed, watching her husband fuck her wannabe lover like this. She ran her fingers through Rydal’s hair, smooth, soothing passes of her fingers, and Chester gritted his teeth and let it all wash over him, the different pitches of her and Rydal’s labored breathing, his own hands sweating as he gripped Rydal, Rydal’s body gripping him once he was fully in. 

Chester let his head fall back, his eyes closed. He hadn’t done this since the war. There really was nothing like the feel of a man being breached, letting himself get dry-fucked because he wanted something else more than his dignity: acceptance into the squad, a pack of cigarettes before going to face the firing squad, or to make another man’s wife come, if only on his face.

“Rydal, you better make my wife happy,” Chester told his hotel-room ceiling, “or I swear to Christ, I will make you bleed.”

He dropped his head, so he could watch himself fuck and Colette get her due, sat back on his heels and lifted Rydal’s lower body a bit, the better to alternately pull Rydal into his thrusts and push, force Rydal’s face into Colette’s snatch. Rydal, bless his Oedipal complex, braced himself with one arm wrapped around Colette’s lower back and his other hand pressed against the wall, and started eating her with the gusto she deserved, for who knew better than Chester MacFarland what a fine piece his wife was? 

Colette, for her part, fluttered her eyelashes and moaned as only she knew how, pulling Rydal’s hair, playing with it, angling her body to give Rydal more to taste, and alternately rolling her eyes at the ceiling and glancing at her lover’s asshole stretched around her husband’s cock, both as red and raw as they could get. Seeing her dart those brief, avid looks made Chester fuck harder, and when Rydal made a wordless noise louder than his moaning till then, Colette slid her hands from the crown of Rydal’s head to the back of his neck and mashed Rydal’s face into her to muffle his voice. Even now, as a participant in Chester’s little staged entertainment, she was thinking about not getting caught in her naughtiness.

Between Rydal groaning and noisily licking and Colette’s moans and _oh oh oh_ ’s, the tight grip of Rydal’s body on him and Colette catching his, Chester’s, eye and abandoning Rydal’s hair, the better to roll her nipples between her fingers and tug on them, the fact that he was still half-drunk and hadn’t indulged himself so thoroughly in a long while, Chester knew he wouldn’t last very long and didn’t even try. 

He heaved himself up when he felt it rushing at him, so he was in a vertical kneel and could drag Rydal into him like a ragdoll, bouncing him on his cock hard and fast, rutting like he owned Rydal’s hole just like those old Greeks with their slaves. He let himself spurt deep inside Rydal, roaring his release while he watched the shock and mild horror at this display warring with the thwarted sulkiness on Colette’s face, because in pulling Rydal into him he’d also pulled Rydal away from Colette’s now-glistening cunt. 

When he’d emptied himself and his body ran with sweat, and only Rydal’s pained moaning filled his ears, Chester slipped out of Rydal and sprawled beside him, where Rydal crouched still on the bed, his forehead pressed to the mattress, gripping handfuls of sheets, for all the world like he was still being fucked. 

Chester ran his sweaty hand over his equally sweaty face and chest, and glanced at Rydal – his eyes were closed, he looked like he was praying now, and Chester noticed that Rydal was hard but didn’t seem to consider he might rut against the sheets for relief – and at Colette, who sat up against the bedframe still, with her legs bent at the knees and opened wide, and was trying to pant quietly, and didn’t dare look at either man.

Chester sighed. He was tired now, but he wasn’t unmerciful. He rolled to his side, toward the two of them, and gripped Rydal’s cock in his sweat-slick fist. Rydal made a noise, of protest or want, Chester didn’t really care. 

“Finish her, Rydal,” he said. “I told you, it’s the only way this can happen.”

 _He was hard on all of us, not just you_ , Rydal’s mother had written in the letter Chester had found, but of course Rydal wouldn’t have believed that, nor would he have understood a world in which he was not singled out for special punishment. Colette had some of that too – she loved her little indulgences, so long as she could feel suitably and prettily guilty about them.

Rydal dragged himself up the bed and fell to eating out Colette again, and she closed her eyes and twisted the bedframe in her fists, while Chester jerked Rydal’s cock like he was scrubbing blood off a bayonet. Neither of them was enjoying this so much now, and Chester wanted it all to be done. Once his balls were wrung dry, attending to anyone else’s orgasm, let alone two anyone’s, was just a pain. 

“Rydal,” Colette breathed as she peaked, her eyes squeezed shut, more in acknowledgment than in a transport of desire. Immediately she opened her eyes and glanced at Chester, her flushed chest still heaving and her breath still hitching in orgasm, the look on her face the same one as when she blew through her allowance in a single trip to Bloomingdale’s and had to ask for more money. 

Chester watched her steadily, unsmiling, while he tugged and tugged on Rydal’s cock, and felt him spurt on the sheets and his own stomach, writhing between Colette’s snatch and Chester’s hand yet possessing neither fully.

In the morning, Rydal would be the one to suggest the MacFarlands not sit together on the bus, like maybe he thought he could have a few hours of illusory privacy with Colette. “Why don’t you and I sit together? Do you mind, sweetie?” Chester would say, as if either of them would dare to tell him no. He’d spend the morning dozing in the heat, letting his leg jostle Rydal’s, relishing Rydal’s discomfort and thinking that, when they got to Heraklion, he would get Rydal down on his knees and use his mouth, see those sloe eyes screwed up with the effort of swallowing him. He wouldn’t make Colette watch, lest she got any ideas about what she was due – Chester just wanted to be rid of this inconvenient little lust, leave it behind him as one of those stupid things that could happen while traveling.

Right now, lying next to his wife and Rydal, neither of whom could think of where to look, more sex was the furthest thing from Chester’s mind. His head was starting to hurt, and he was exhausted. 

“See you tomorrow, Rydal,” he said, settling himself on his back and closing his eyes, certain that he would not be challenged. 

He said nothing to Colette. Even if she wanted to defy him, Chester knew how she liked her creature comforts, and not only was the bed in Rydal’s room smaller, but the prospect of having to go through the motions of preparing for sleep with Rydal would be a fraction more unpleasant than slithering down this double bed, into the wet mess she and Rydal had made of the sheets and Colette’s pillow, while Rydal picked up his clothes and went across the hall.


End file.
